


Stars

by stydiakisses



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:01:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11639442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stydiakisses/pseuds/stydiakisses
Summary: She is burning, like fire and stars, like sun and moonlight. Her eyes are distant galaxies and untouchable clouds. And God, Stiles fucking misses her.





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda cringe, but I'm trying to be brave lol.

_**_

_The stars are gone._

The morning sky would never feel as ethereal. His hands are cold and his heart empty. He's not sure if he has it. A heart. He lays his head on yet another pillow, yet another bed, what seems to be the thousandth one, and it's the same like always. Who is he? He wonders and asks the night. But the night won't give him an answer, because there is no answer to who he is. He doesn't know who he is and how far can he go without himself. Without a purpose and a reason to breathe. Without her.

She might've been the one.

It's been years and he still craves for her tender, ardent touch. He keeps her old scarf there in the drawer and he dares to feel its smell; he can't get rid of it because it smells like her. It smells like strawberries and innocence and it's pure, and it's clean and it's Lydia. It's her eyes and her hair and her voice and her touch and _her_. And if he did force himself to burn it, he'd lose the only little piece that holds the small fraction of his ruined world in place. He'd lose the last piece of her he still has. And he can't. He can't dive in deeper into this madness he lets himself embrace. No one makes him breathless like she does. No one feels like she does. No one loves him like she _did_. No one can ever. He knows.

The fame, the money; it's nothing. It doesn't mean shit to him. The night has no stars, nor the Earth spins anymore and the girls he fucks try too hard. They're no fun, but Stiles knows they are. He is the problem. They're no fun _to_ him, regardless of them having things in common. He can see the melancholy in their eyes, they're broken. He is too. They intoxicate themselves with inflamed liquids and burn themselves with never lasting cigarettes, in hope their sorrows vanish. Their life is drugs, alcohol and sex and it doesn't matter because he is used to it. He had to get used to it. She's gone. Lydia.

She is burning, like fire and stars, like sun and moonlight. Her eyes are distant galaxies and untouchable clouds. And God, Stiles fucking misses her.

*

Stars. Stiles loved stars. Sometimes he wished he was one. Stars are... Stars. No words could describe them. Nothing could compare with stars, no one could compare with stars. Sometimes he wished he was one. Sometimes, he wished he had one. A star. Just for him.

The night he saw her fiery locks kissed by the September cold and her skin shining under the stars he had named, was the night Stiles' eyes filled with a spark he wore every time a thought of her would flicker through his mind. The spark would never go, he didn't want it to. Because she is as beautiful as spring, her perfection blooming through the heaven's touch. (a/n: thanks rena)

He was sure he'd never seen this girl in his life before, for the way the moon reflected her smile had him wonder if she was stardust.

He was disappointed when he saw her the next morning, she wasn't stardust. She was Lydia Martin, _that_ girl who moved at the beginning of the year, when his girlfriend decided to dump him and let him experience the process of living on the floor for two weeks. She was in his art class. She had Biology with him too. He never really noticed her before, except the day she'd first come to school. She probably remembered nothing that happened that night he thought she'd had moon's tears on her cheeks and glitter in her hair. God, he should have known. He couldn't have _a thing_ with Lydia Martin.

Her name felt sweet on his tongue. _Lydia._ Soft as a petal of a flower, but blazing like the vital sun. He didn't know her. He was sure no one knew her. He was sure he wouldn't know her. For fucks sake, he was the rockstar of high school. She was the cliché new girl, who spent one night with him, doing embarrassing things like dancing, things that didn't leave Stiles' mind for days. Rockstar and new girl? Not really. Then, he would stare at her in art class. Coffee afternoons to sleepless nights, lightning striking stronger and brighter and he would wonder if she knew who he was, if she reminisced the night too, if she felt the spark. She wasn't stardust. She was his daydream, the one he couldn't accept, and she was a walking fire, running through his mind and she was a wishful thought, maybe lost in the night he'd found her.

He didn't want her to be lost. So he found her again.

***

Stars had taken over the night sky and at 1 am, Stiles was awake. The darkness of his room reminded him of emptiness, the silence reminded him of loneliness and the peace made him wonder if he's alive. It was 1 am and the stars had taken over the sky when Stiles sneaked out of the almost empty house and left the loneliness behind. He walked on the roads of his little town, air felt like rain and his hands searched for shelter from the cold. His pajamas didn't hold enough warmth to protect him from the grey clouds' cold eyes and Stiles knew he would regret it later, when his temperature rises and he is sick. But he would still feel the touch of the night sky on his cheeks and he didn't care about anything else.

He heard loud music from the distance, somewhere where the moon touched the earth and it made him jumpy and energetic; a smile took over his face. He loved music more than rain loves the earth, he liked to think. (He loved metaphors, a lot.) That was the only thing he'd let himself fall in love with. Music was the way of feelings being turned into words and sometimes, words weren't enough. So the deafening sounds and melodies spoke in their language.

He wouldn't consider himself a _good_ songwriter, but he wrote songs. He just didn't like them very much, or at all. They didn't feel real. There was nothing to write about. Only his drums and Scott's voice, with Isaac's guitar and Liam's inability to focus. Who'd want to hear yet another song that sounds the same like any other? Everyone would. Which was sad, because Stiles really wanted something unique, but nothing was inspiring enough to write something he'd like.

He was getting closer to the unknown melodies, when he saw someone sneaking out of the window, from some enormous mansion whose garden was something Stiles would probably ruin, if he was ever to take care of it. The person tripped and he didn't want to laugh, but he did. Based on their small frame and thin waist, Stiles guessed it was a girl, she also wore a fufu dress, he couldn't see what colour.

"Nice dress you've got there.", he spoke when she neared the road and him, for that matter. He didn't really know why he said anything to this girl, but then again, you don't always see people sneaking out at 1 am. Except him, of course.

"Thanks, person that could possibly be a kidnapper," the girl looked at him and sarcastically remarked. Or maybe not sarcastically. Who knew.

"You're welcome, princess."

"Lydia," she said and there was a little chuckle following.

Truth be told, Stiles didn't really care. "Okay."

"Wanna sneak into a party?" There was a smirk on her face and for a minute, he didn't feel gravity. Maybe he should have cared about her name.

"Uh," and he was quiet.

"Come on, it's gonna be fun!" Lydia's face showed her hyper spirit.

"I could kidnap you." Stiles decided it was his time to smirk _and_ cover the fact he lost control for a second.

"Sweetie, your hair is a mess, you're wearing pajamas that smells like sweat and my bodyguard is twice the size of you."

Well, of course she had a fucking bodyguard. Anyone who lived in the house like hers would. Stiles wanted to ask her if she was royalty, but figured that's not attractive. Besides, it was stupid too, although she looked like a princess.

"It's ' _I'll scream',_ not whatever the paragraph you've just wasted time saying."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "So, you going?"

"I could still kidnap you."  
He made few steps forward and winked.

"You wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because stars are shining too bright tonight."

Lydia was holding his hand as they neared an enormous, grey, royal-like yacht from which the music echoed in Stiles' ears and he couldn't quite recognise it. But everything about the night was unrecognisable, therefore it didn't really matter. What mattered was Lydia holding his hand and him feeling like he was conquering the city.

He couldn't see what colour her eyes were in the dark and he couldn't answer as to why her hand was so warm during the cold night, but her curls were the colour of fire and they were perfectly falling over her shoulders, while her face seemed to shine underneath the stars. He thought maybe she was stardust.

"Okay, don't say anything so I can get us in", Lydia stopped walking and looked at him, then winked.

Stiles stood confused, and kind of regretted he was stupid enough to hop along, but then again he couldn't really resist the night's mystery, Lydia.

"We're the duchess Lydia Flowery and the prince who must not be named, but call him Grumpy, from the Sunny Kingdom."

The boy almost held his laugh, but he couldn't help it. He noticed Lydia grinning at him and she lightly hit him on his shoulder and in that moment, Stiles felt like he was a mischievous five year old again. He didn't tell her his name, he realised. _Things just got more interesting._ On his surprise, the scary man in black, (because yes, Stiles was actually scared of this possible killer), let them in, after longly staring and even slightly smiling at Lydia's pink fufu dress and Stiles' old pajamas. This had to be a stupid joke.

He came in to see it was not a usual party. Usual parties look terrible. This one didn't. Everything was... Tidy? There weren't people on the floor. This party must've sucked. He frowned and looked down at Lydia. She was so much shorter than him. "I know what you're thinking. What kind of weird am I to come to _this_ party. But can you guess how much a cocktail in this place costs?"

She definitely was weird. Never in his life would Stiles attend a party like this. "15 bucks?"

Lydia laughed and he could swear it was the only thing he could hear, the music turning to distant melodies. "800$ a drink, honey."

No biggie, just hundreds of dollars. Before he could process this, she dragged him along to the bar through the ladies whose dresses were something Stiles only saw at weddings and the men who all looked like they're about to marry someone.

The bartender gave them a smudged look, but asked anyway: "And what would you like?"

"Anything. We'll take two."

How was she going to pay? But then again, she was rich. But then again, why would she get him an 800$ drink? She didn't even know him. He didn't even know her. He didn't even know if he was awake. Maybe he was dreaming.

"That'd be-"

"Oh no, I don't need to pay, my daddy threw the party." Lydia innocently smiled and Stiles didn't know if it was a lie or not.

"Mr Smith has... kids?"

"Yes, want me to scream?"

"No."

"Your ID's would be-"

"I will freaking scream!"

The bartender whose last name appeared to be 'Maslanka' and Stiles guessed he was Polish, put the two glasses filled with what seemed to be cocktails in front of them, "...Here's your drinks." And Stiles didn't see him for the rest of the night.

Lydia took her drink and started walking away and Stiles lazily followed her and wondered if her hair was sunrise.

"Well that was easy, and fun." She seductively smiled, taking a sip of her cocktail.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Unless we go to jail."

Lydia chuckled and stared at the staircase that led outside where the sounds of music were a whisper and the melody of the ocean was the only song.

It took him some moments but he couldn't help but ask. "Are you really his d-"

"No, oh my God." Lydia laughed and Stiles glanced at the wealth in front of him.

Someday, he'd have his own party like this. This was just a short look of the life he could have. He couldn't wait to have it. It was so... fascinating. And so not for someone his age.

"Why'd you come to a party like this?" He looked at Lydia again. She was watching the shades of moonlight coming through the door.

"To feel like I matter."

She hesitated for just a second, but before he knew it her hand was holding his and she made her way through the crowd, up to the stairs and by the guards, on the balcony. And before he knew it, he was underneath the night sky again. She was unpredictable.

She watched the darkness in the ocean, his hand still in hers without her noticing and Stiles watched the stars, but his eyes would wander to her every few minutes. She didn't say anything until he saw a small smile on her lips and she no longer watched the ocean, but him.

"Wanna dance?"

Stiles didn't like dancing. He didn't like slow dancing. He swore he'd never do it again, and he didn't. It was stupid and _romantic_ and boring and he couldn't hear music, so what was Lydia's point?

"I don't- I don't really-"

"Everyone does." Lydia didn't let him finish and convincingly spoke, before taking his hand again and that time, Stiles was nervous for the first time in the night. And he strangely liked she held his hand a lot, somehow...

Stiles wasn't good at dancing and he didn't do slow dancing a lot to know how it goes, but she placed his hands around her waist and gave him an assured smile. There was almost no space between them and her eyes were green and her eyelashes long and she was dancing with him.

He felt alive, all because she sent embers in his blood with one look. She was wildfire, her veins held sparks and God her eyes were worth getting lost in. So he did. He felt her hand around his neck, her fingernails softly engraving themselves in his skin, leaving a mark, and he didn't _just_ like it. His hands didn't go further than her hips, and usually they would, Stiles knew, but this time he felt like it was wrong, she didn't ask him and he didn't move them. So it was all causal, some Lydia dancing with him (and he always thought dancing like this is stupid) like she likes it and like they're the only ones in the space. Stiles was sure he was dreaming.

Maybe, if they were a little closer, he could've kissed her. But his mind was a mess and she was a stranger he'd never seen before and who somehow made the emptiness fade away.

"Why'd you really come to a party like this?" he whispered, barely audible, but just enought for ther to hear.

Lydia's cheeks got the colour, light red, blush, and she looked away. "I like running away from things."

They weren't the only ones in the space. And this wasn't a dream. And that maybe dancing like this isn't stupid, because it makes you feel like you're starlight. After that night, he knew he'd never see her again.

Before she sneaked into her enormous house through the window she's sneaked out of, she asked: "Wait. What's your name?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but he loved the mystery of the night too much and he loved the dash of fantasy in it too, so he wanted it to stay.

Stars had been lightning the night sky and at 1:58 am, Stiles' heartbeat was fast.

"Voldemort."

He gave her one last smile and ran back home, unsure of the heat in his blood and electricity in his heart. But he was sure of one thing: Lydia was something else.

*

It rained.

That night, Stiles didn't sleep at all. When he's not sleeping, things aren't in his mind and it's empty, he's just staring at the endless blackness, wishing it was stars above him.

That night, things were running through his mind. Things like people. People like Lydia. Why didn't he meet her before? He didn't even know if she went to his school, but he secretly hoped she did.

And holy shit it was Lydia Martin. He didn't want to be disappointed, because for all he knew Lydia was not interesting at all and Isaac told him that, when she helped him with German once. He didn't want to be disappointed, because she really wasn't special like he thought but fuck. Not sleeping because of her had to mean something.

She didn't seem to recognise him in Biology. Or art class. Or each time he saw her. He tried to ignore his want of seeing her and his inquisitiveness and his thoughts, but Stiles was never good at ignoring. He couldn't really get close to her now anyway, they were finishing school that summer and their paths were different and he tried to give up on trying to talk to her, but a little something in him was telling him she maybe is stardust.

Damn metaphors.

But Stiles couldn't have anything with Lydia Martin. And Lydia Martin couldn't have anything with him.

"Dude, Liam's gotten us weed. You coming after school?"

At times, nothing cheered Stiles up like some strong shit but at times, he was so fucking tired of being like he is that it drove him insane. His mom wouldn't ever be proud. And Lydia looked so... clean compared to him, which was a one reason more why he shouldn't...

"No."

Scott was confused. Probably because Stiles is always up for it. "No?"

"I... I have plans. Sorry, dude." Lies.

"You never have plans." Scott scoffed.  "Hey! Stiles!" He yelled, but Stiles was too far away from him.

Damn giving up so fast. So he didn't.

"Hey!" Stiles waved, a grin on his face. She looked as if she recognised him and immediately started walking in different direction.

"Hey, wait!" She didn't wait, instead she moved faster. Awesome, he was being creepy.

" _Lydia._ "

It felt sweet on his tongue. Like vanilla or strawberry milkshake. He liked it. She stopped, but she didn't turn around. Stiles wasn't sure and it didn't happen often, because he was confident as hell, but he wasn't sure of what was his next move. Was he just gonna stand there like some creep, not do anything because his mind is blocked? Pfft.

"Need something?" Aand she still didn't turn around, and Stiles could swear he heard nervousness in her voice and he wasn't supposed to like it.

"Well you know, uh, few nights ago, there was.. billion stars in the sky. The ocean was singing. You. Me. Dancing," it took him way too long to say all that, but at least he said it and she heard it, "my boner." That last one she didn't hear, hopefully.

When she didn't say anything, Stiles continued speaking which was the worst he could do, he was just embarrassing himself, "I know what you must be thinking. Poor guy, probably thinks l give a fuck about that-"

Lydia turned around, books in her hands and all and seeing her face in sunlight was, well, something not worth trying to describe. "That's not what I was thinking."

"What I think is... You just seem like you could use more nights like that."

He couldn't say another word, because she was already walking away.

*

She was an artist. A really good artist. He'd seen her drawing whenever she would catch his sight. It was a pretty sight to have. Her lips would pucker and sometimes, she'd smile proudly, and bite her lip afterwards. She didn't seem that interested in him, after he tried to talk to her the other day and she definitely wasn't interested when she noticed his 'Marvel' shirt, but she told him Bucky was her favourite nonetheless.

Lydia, however, ignored him after that and Stiles knew she did, but he didn't know why. Until he did. What did he think? She probably didn't want to have anything to do with guys like him, trouble. But he just couldn't stop thinking about her. That's all he had. Thoughts.

He was being so creepy and completely not himself. This is not something Stiles would let himself do. Like someone so much, no. He didn't even know her and she wasn't even interested like all those girls that smiled at him daily. God Stiles hated popularity. He just wanted to talk to her again, hear her voice and know what she loves and just, simply know what Lydia Martin is like.

He didn't see her eyes, until one day, when sunlight could compare to her cheeks. She came up to him and awkwardly stared without saying anything, books in her hands and all, just like the very last time they talked. He couldn't believe his eyes, but tried to act cool about it, which did not work.

"Could your band sing at the prom tonight?"

"Uhhhh," he would stammer then. He knew he'd stammer. She was unpredictable.

"This is not my idea. I'm just the-"

"Count us in." Isaac, Liam and Scott were going to kill him. They don't 'do' proms or shit like that. He was so dead. She still stared at him longer than needed and he stared back, until she awkwardly smiled once again and quickly started walking away. A paper flew out of one of her books and Stiles picked it up, just to see it was a drawing, and shit, it was breathtaking.

"Lydia, you dropped this!" He said her name again and she stopped again. She came back and glanced at the paper in his hand, blushing immediately and Stiles liked it when she blushed.

"Oh. Uh oh. T-Thanks." Lydia stuttered. He never heard her stutter.

"Really nice drawing. Have more of them?" She had more. He saw her drawing all the time. And this time he had the chance to see her beauty. On a paper of course. Well, if she didn't lie.

"I- I have a sketchbook yeah. Here.." Lydia handed him a notebook and he already saw it was almost full and his curiosity was so big. It was like he held all the gold of the world.

The sketches were mostly eyes, flowers, trees and hands. But so, so pretty. Her talent was breathaking.

"You like drawing eyes. Especially hazel eyes."

Lydia nervously scratched the back of her neck. "Um, I have this project. I need to draw like, one perfect eye. As weird as that sounds.."

He continued looking through the pages of her creativity and smiled when he found what he thought was perfect for her project. "This one." He smiled. It reminded him of something, this whole drawing thing, but he also felt the need to say:

"You have a gift. You see people, Lydia."

"I see you."

Maybe Stiles was a fan of tragedies like _Titanic_ , but it wasn't even the reference that made him smile. It was just Lydia, smiling like she knew she has just done what she has and like she thought he didn't know. He did. So he smiled back.  
She quickly made her way to the art classroom and he wondered again if her hair was sunrise.

*

When summer came in their town, Stiles smiled at her all the time and she'd smile back, when they'd see each other on the streets. His band, unfortunately, split apart, but it was okay. Stiles meant to start a solo career anyways. It was his last summer in this town and he spent a lot of time in the library and he'd see her and they'd smile at each other again. Stiles couldn't just do that, so he pluck up the courage and approached her one day in the library and they laughed for a good half an hour at jokes they said. Well, silently laughed because, hello they were in a library. And then Lydia Martin was his friend. And he was hers. He watched her and couldn't do nothing but admire, it was all he ever did. He wanted to tell her she's beautiful and all those adjectives that were worth her ears, but no adjectives could describe her and Stiles knew a lot, if not all of them.

"No one deserves you, Lydia Martin."

"The only people who do are the ones who think they don't."

She said it so nonchalantly, effortlessly, and Stiles admired that too. But something else went through head, as well. He thought he didn't deserve her.

Lydia's laughs were probably the most beautiful music he's heard. Yes, she had a lot of different laughs, but there was one that was his absolute favourite. The one she has when he causes it. Maybe that was selfish, but God that was the most adorable fucking laugh Stiles could never get tired of.

Sometimes Lydia's face would be really close to his, when they get caught up in a moment of staring, after saying something or wathcing a movie and he'd try and kiss her. Because that's all he ever craved for. A kiss from Lydia Martin. A touch of her lips on his own. But he was just so-

He kissed her on Thursday. She tasted like stars. Her lips were as soft as they looked and incandescent as he thought they'd be. She kissed back and held his cheeks and when she pulled away, it took her a moment to open her eyes and Stiles knew then _she_ was the sunrise. And Thursday was his favourite day of the week.

She liked diamond rings. She'd get one from him, someday.

Music wasn't the only thing Stiles fell in love with. Because Lydia was. Stiles was more than certain he loved Lydia. He pictured her in a wedding dress sometimes and he pictured her cooking in their house. That was love in some way, he figured. And he saw that spark in her eyes, the one he himself had when he thought about her or looked at her. He'd see stars in them too, so many stars in her eyes. So, she loved him too, maybe. They didn't say it yet, but it was okay. He knew she doesn't say it so easily. Neither did he. It'd probably slip up when he isn't expecting it or something. Like in those romantic dramas. But whenever it does slip up, she doesn't have to say it back. He'd just know.

There weren't stars in her eyes for nothing.

Huh, stars. He loved stars.

He'd write poems and he'd write anything and everything. He'd write about the girl with fire for hair and rose for lips. He'd write about Lydia. He'd write _for_ Lydia. His heartbeat was rapid when his pen would brush against the soothing paper, writing rhymes about a girl whose eyes were galaxies Stiles had craved for. Because all that was running through his mind was: "I don't deserve to write about her", and he'd ask the sky if he deserved _her_ , but her words would come back and her embrace would give away she loved him and that was enough. His songs had a meaning, finally. They felt real. It wasn't just that his songs are about her; _he_ is about her, and it's like he knew no life without her. She was kind of like the sun he desperately wanted, and Stiles knew she turned him into a boy who _needed_ love to breathe.

"Sweet as the summer breeze, she makes me..."

"Sneeze!" Lydia laughed and gave him a kiss on his nose.

"No, you're really bad at this."  
Stiles looked at her, the familiar whiskey spark in his eyes.

"What was the word?" she pouted her rose lips.

"'Wheeze' is the word."

"This song sucks," another laugh escaped her lips and he couldn't help but giggle, "I love it Stiles." Her mint found his whiskey and this is just how he wanted to be. Here right now, with fire kissed girl, _his_ everything.

Stiles' songs finally had a meaning.

*

Las fucking Vegas.

He couldn't believe he was going to perform here. In front of thousands. Most people call Las Vegas city of sinners. Others call it heaven on earth. Stiles didn't know what to believe, because maybe it was both.

He didn't have to play at any of the casinos in Las Vegas to get a reward. Lydia was the reward. It was about half past 2 am and Lydia dragged Stiles outside their not so little hotel room for God knows what. But she was Lydia. Adventure ran through her veins.

"We should get married in a Vegas chapel!"

For a moment, the world stopped. He told her he was going to marry her a lot of times, but all she would do was chuckle or laugh or roll her eyes. 

"You- You want to marry me?" Stiles knew she wanted to marry him, but to hear her say-

"Uh, we can get fake married before we actually marry, people do that."

Hey, better fake marriage than nothing. But she maybe forgot it was 2:43 am and that they were in Vegas and that he didn't bring his wallet, because he thought she would buy him ice cream.

"Lyds, it's almost 3 am. Where are you gonna find a wedding dress?" Lydia would probably look more angelic than she does. It made him want to really marry her now.

"This city never sleeps. We'll pay them. Come on." She took his hand and dragged him somewhere and Stiles felt like he was eighteen again, when one stranger sneaked into a rich party with him and revealed how secretive night can be.

"Oh my God," he laughed. "And I'm pretty sure New York is the city that never sleeps."

What mattered was Lydia holding his hand.

*

In the hotel room of one of the New York's expensive hotels, Lydia and Stiles were ready to have a marathon of their favourite shows and Stiles felt like watching 'Jessica Jones', but unfortunately.

"Oh no, we didn't bring 'Jessica Jones'!" Lydia yelled from their bedroom and Stiles pretty much fell on the floor.

"Stiles?" SHe entered the living room and laughed.

"I wanted to watch that!!" He immitated a baby and started fake crying because that was just Stiles.

"Babe," Lydia kneeled down, and couldn't contain her giggles.

"Tell Scott he sucks. Remember I left my 'Game of Thrones' shirts in the drawer." Stiles acted out his death scene and he was pretty certain he actually would say this on his death bed. Luckily, it doesn't happen soon-

"And Lydia. Remember I love you."

It slipped up. He wasn't expecting it. But he just told her he loved her. He loved her. He loved her so much, fuck. He just wanted to say it all the time. And when he saw her face, something inside him softened and she looked more beautiful than ever and her eyes were sparkling and she was stardust.

"I love you too." She said, and Stiles could cry right there, in that moment, because it was so soothing and sort of like poetry.

"I know."

Damn the Han Solo. But perfect for this moment. And she knew, because she smiled and remembered all the times she had to sit through 'Star Wars' with him.

This was his forever. So he asked her if she wanted to live forever, because he knew with her, he did. He never wanted this to end and he knew when it did, he'd see her somehwere in the sky again and they'll find love there.

"I don't worry about living forever. I already know I will." Lydia said and she looked so in love, Stiles wondered if something bigger than love could exist; and it did in Lydia's eyes.

"What? Have some secret elixir you didn't tell me about?"

She chuckled. "No. You fall in love with a writer who loves you back, you never die."

This was his forever. It's that love that takes your breath away, but is the reason you're breathing.

So maybe Lydia was his star. Maybe if he didn't have her, he'd feel empty, vain. Maybe if he'd lost her, the guilt wouldn't let him rest. Lydia was his star, and God, Stiles loved stars.

*

 _'I got signed!'_ never meant _'I'm giving our days away_ ', until it did. Because he did. He gave everything away for a little fame and fun and money and... lies. It was all a lie. But his love for Lydia wasn't. And after not seeing her face for a whole week, and after the upsetting phone call and after her anger killed him, Stiles was going to make it right. She was Lydia. He needed days with her again and he needed her.

It rained.

Stiles never really cried. He didn't have reasons to cry. In high school, for example, he was in a goddamn band, everyone loved him because he was apparently hot and his dad always said the best jokes. Nothing to cry about. Except his mom, sometimes. But he didn't like to think of her in a sad way, because he knew his mom was beautiful and he only wanted happy memories in his mind whenever he'd think of her.

He thought of Lydia and tears would just show up. He couldn't live like that. He stood in front of her house, in that old town where they both grew up and where they decided they're meant to be, like some ghost, shaking from the rain. He didn't know what to do so he just waited, because Lydia loved rain and whenever it would rain, she'd go out at about 6 pm (if it would still be raining then) and take a long walk. He knew because she used to do it with him.

She opened the door and when she saw him, her eyes widened from shock and said: "Are you insane?"

Maybe not insane. Stiles was just really in love. Or insanely in love. So, insane. Ookay.

"Lydia," his voice cracked and he felt his heart break.

"I'm sorry. I just can't, Lydia. It's not easy-"

"It's not easy for me either! I can't sleep knowing that every time I get to see you, you'll be gone again. It's not easy, Stiles."

And all Stiles could do was let tears out... It was pointless. Rain had already touched his face and his tears were unseen, his pain too. Hers wasn't. He could see her tears even underneath the raindrops that made them pointless. He could see her pain even if her eyes weren't close enough to his. He'd caress her cheek and remove the tear that fell, and she'd let no other tears because she'd smile, because she liked his touch. And all he could do now was let his own tears out...

He could've stayed. Stiles knew he could've stayed.

But he fucking left.

*

The first party he attended as a superstar was a yacht club party. Stiles was eighteen again, because there was Lydia, holding his hand and telling him only rich people attend parties like this. There was Lydia, dancing with him with his hands on her hips and her fingers on his neck. There was Lydia, her laugh defeating the music and her words his favourite song. And when he looks down at his left, her short frame wouldn't be there.

He couldn't breathe.

"Uh, can I- Can I get, um, any cocktail, it doesn't matter which?"

The bartender typed something in the cash register and said: "That'd be 805$.", without even giving Stiles a look. But then he did.

"Hey, you're Stiles Stilinski, aren't you? I love your work. It's on the house, man."

Lydia would've smiled.

"Thanks..."

Never in his life had Stiles thought he'd attend a party like this. Without Lydia.

And suddenly none of his dreams or the pretty lights or the expensive suits mattered because Lydia wasn't there. He didn't have Lydia. And Lydia was everything.

***

Where the fuck is his home? He keeps wondering if anyone knows what it feels like to desperately look for home in a person. If only home was on every pillow he's felt and in every look at the sky he's taken, he'd never feel so void. Why does he need her so much, to make him feel something?

Maybe she wonders about their _almost_. She hates him, or she thinks he hates her. Maybe she thinks he forgot, or maybe she forgot. Maybe she doesn't think at all. About him or about them. Maybe she doesn't need him so much and maybe Thursday isn't her favourite day of week, because she doesn't reminisce how he kissed her under the starlight and made his daydream a reality. He wishes she does.

Sometimes he wishes he could wake up and forget about her, but he just can't stop missing her and it's that much that he _can't_ forget about her. Not ever.

If the world only knew how alone has he become. If they could only see his eyes in the dark, without that spark that once lightened his fears away. If only there was a spark. There was just... nothing.

Years ago, this was all Stiles wanted. To make music that keeps him going and to make people happy with his words. He forgot about himself.

He walked to the balcony, traffic lights and heartbeats underneath him and limitless sky above him. He looked up, because once, there were aglow constellations he had named, the ones he had craved for to touch. Maybe somehwere there was a home, in a star he didn't see just yet.

Stars. He was one. But that's what people are. They're all stars, each one's luminosity a different shade, some's bliss stronger than other's. And stars die out, their brilliance that was once radiant, replaced by the blue velvet of night.

Stars. He was one. But he died out.

That night, no stars were shining up in the sky. The streets were soaked from the rain in which he'd once let those tears fall, but it was pointless. Because tears are like rain. Rain is sorrows the sky pierces over hearts. Tears are sorrows the heart pierces over you.

Six years. _The stars are gone._

And so is he. And he'll never see her face, and he sometimes cries, but it's okay. He adapted anyway.

She was the one.

*

 

 

 


End file.
